In a perfect world, he’d still be by my side.
In a perfect world, there would have been happily ever after. There would have been a white wedding dress and black tuxedo, a grotesquely extravagant wedding cake, drunken kisses, and pleasure so exquisite it’s equal couldn’t be found anywhere else on Earth.
In a perfect world, the blood wouldn’t have arced across the windshield, the bones wouldn’t have crunched against the metal, and his eyes wouldn’t have rolled back into his head.
But I live in a not so perfect world, where no angels come down from heaven to save the lives of those who are worthy, where no elves with singing bows come to pierce the hearts of the enemy. In my not-so-perfect world, he is dead and I am alive. He is a lifeless piece of meat beneath a sheet, and I am warm and breathing, a great void left where he used to be.
In my not so perfect world, the smell of disinfectant makes my head reel as I stare at my blood-covered clothes. His blood. Not one drop of it is mine. It’s not fair. I came out unscathed, and he came out dead. After all he’d been through, it had to come to this. A blinking red light, an empty intersection, and some stupid teenager who will constantly tell of how they regretted the decision to drive drunk for the rest of their life.
Fuck regret. It’s not worth anything. Why should we think of what should have been or could have been? Life’s not fair. Has it ever been? Fuck this feeling deep within my stomach, the feeling that says I’m going to throw up at any moment, throw up all over this shining white floor that’s making my head spin.
Fuck fate, fuck destiny, fuck eternity. They all mean nothing. We were meant to be, I would have waited thousands of years for you… It’s all bullshit. We promise things that aren’t possible. He promised me forever. Is that promise broken? Is it his fault? Is it my fault? Is it that fucking girl’s fault? No. It’s the fault of a not so perfect world. But it doesn’t really make a difference, because no matter how much I blame someone for this, he’ll still be dead.
I’m not going to be a typical woman. I’m not going to walk over to his body, still clothed on that hospital gurney, and take his ring off, putting in on my finger and walking away to play the part of the weepy widow. I’m not even his fucking widow. He hadn’t even asked me to marry him. And how can I say he was going to? It’s not up to me to decide.
Somewhere he’s being born into somebody else, and I’ll never have a chance with him ever again. So many what ifs. I can’t stand what ifs.
I swallow the urge to puke and stand up, looking dazedly around at the people milling about the hospital lobby. People who have no idea what I’ve been through, people who wouldn’t care even if I said anything.
In a perfect world they would have cared.
My feet carry me to the automatic doors, and I don’t even turn around for another look. What use is it to look? I know what I’ll see. This isn’t going to turn into some damn movie like Ghost, where there’s always a happy ending. He’s gone. And I better fucking get used to it.
In a perfect world, the dolphins would have cried and he would have lived again.
